Stressed and at his wits’ end, Gabriel pushed his hands through his hair. He sat back and stared down at the desk. It was old and ornate, with drawers on either side. He had rifled through the contents. But there was nothing there. Nothing to help Gabriel understand his grandfather. He was just about to get up off the seat when he noticed an edge of paper sticking out of one of the decorative drawers across the room. Gabriel’s eyebrows pulled down. A flicker of curiosity sparked in his chest as he got to his feet and approached the drawers. He ran his hand over the expensive cherry wood and exquisite craftmanship. Gabriel studied the locks; there was no sign of a key. Pulling on the handle, he tried to open them. They didn’t move. Gabriel didn’t understand why he was so hell-bent on getting inside the drawers. But this task, fleeting as it might be, took him from his constant hell of worrying about his brothers. So he focused on it.
He dropped to knees and studied the drawers. He felt victorious when he found a small gap. It showed him there was something inside. He turned back to the desk, picked up the letter opener, and slid the blade into the fake drawer. The blade hit what appeared to be some kind of hidden lock. Gabriel stabbed and stabbed at the metal until something clicked and the fell drawer open.
Gabriel dropped the letter opener on the ground and stared at the contents. Journal after journal was piled inside. He reached for the first one, slumped to the floor, and opened the brown leather cover.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t think of killing. When it didn’t consume my every waking thought, when it didn’t drive my actions every single day of my life . . .
Breath vacated Gabriel’s lungs as he read page after page. The blood drained from his face, and his hands shook. Gabriel read so intently that he didn’t realize the sun had risen and was now high in the sky until the door to the study opened.
Miller walked around the desk and froze when he saw Gabriel sitting on the floor. “Gabriel?”
Miller’s expression fell to one of fear when he saw what was in Gabriel’s hands. “You knew,” Gabriel said. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact. Gabriel held up the journal in his hands. He had already read through three. Each one defining who his grandfather was. A killer. A murderer. Detailed descriptions of how he killed, of the blackness that lived within him that made him need to take lives . . . of why he had stayed away from his daughter. Fear that his evil ways would pass to her. Or worse, that he would harm her when he spun out of control.
Only they hadn’t passed to his daughter. They had skipped a generation and passed to his grandson. His grandson who was currently under the Brethren’s sadistic care.
“Gabriel.” Miller ran his hands down his face. “I can explain.”
“You don’t need to.” Gabriel’s blood zinged through his veins. He had just read how his grandfather channeled his need for blood. The protocols his staff had had in place so he could satisfy his deadly needs—the staff who worked in the manor. And how his best friend, John Miller, had kept his secret and helped him find the people to kill. Created a system whereby innocents weren’t harmed . . . only those who truly deserved it.
“Gabriel, I can explain.” Miller dropped down on the desk chair with a thud. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar.
“I want you to show me. I want you to show me how you found the ones to kill. How you controlled Jack, how you both made it work for all those years without being detected, or killing innocent people.”
Miller’s face transformed from an expression of guilt to one of utter shock. “What? Why—?”
“Michael is like Jack. Michael, my brother, my blood brother . . . and all of my brothers, are like Jack.”
Miller swallowed, eyes widening. “What?”
“They want to kill. They will kill one day. They told me this themselves. It’s why the Brethren took them to Purgatory. Because they believed them to be possessed by demons.” Gabriel’s head fell. Taking a heavy breath, he let it all out, the burden of truth that clogged his chest. He confessed it all to Miller. About Purgatory, the Brethren, the Fallen . . . everything. When he had finished, Miller’s face was red with fury. “We need to get them out,” Gabriel said.
“There’s no record that they even exist. And Gabriel, the church is powerful. In Boston, the Catholic Church is everything. It’s a war we don’t want to start. We have to be smart about this.”